


you got a black heart

by seabear



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 20-somethings, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Halloween, M/M, Pining, boys who don't know how to talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seabear/pseuds/seabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren is a performer at the Shiganshina Horror Park. Jean is the strung-out costume/makeup artist who hates him. Maybe. Eren's a little unsure about that last part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you got a black heart

“Stop moving.”

“You try sittin’ still for an hour while someone slathers thick, itchy paint all over your face,” Eren snaps, nose twitching as he feels the paintbrush slide over his upper lip.

“Okay, one, it’s been 25 minutes,” Jean squirts out more red face paint onto the back of his hand. “Two, I could do this in ten, fifteen minutes tops like I do for everyone else if you’d _stop fucking moving.”_

“I can’t help it--this shit itches something fierce.”

“Deal with it.”

Eren’s hands grip at his knees in an effort not to rub the absolute shit out of his nose, eyeing Jean’s brush as it comes back around. A hand cups his jaw, a soft mutter of _lift your chin_ before Eren’s head is being tilted back. Jean tends to just move Eren wherever he wants, and Eren has an issue with fact that he’s never had anyone touch his face so much, or look so intently at him. Which sucks, because it’s Jean. 

Jean, who thinks he’s better than Eren because he comes from the city and knows all the best Thai fusion restaurants and went to private schools growing up. When he’s not hurling insults at Eren, he’s usually talking about the bold body of his coffee or his collection of vintage monster movie memorabilia plates or some shit like that. He’s kind of the fucking worst, if Eren’s being honest.

Jean wrinkles his nose. “Did you even shower today?”

“Nah, I wanted to be extra musky just for you, baby.”

“You’re disgusting,” Jean grunts.

See? _The worst._

And somehow Eren always winds up last, Jean breezily applying scars and stitches to everyone else's faces, fixing prosthetic horns to foreheads, almost artfully composing oozing wounds all in a matter of two hours for a dozen or so people. Eren’s station is the last one in the park, in the huge half dilapidated barn--the horrifying grand finale where he hangs from the rafters and jumps out at people, screaming and throwing things against walls in the almost pitch black dark.

(“It’s kind of a twist on Frankenstein,” Jean had explained to him the first time Eren sat in the makeup chair. “But like, less Hulk-ish and more kind of deconstructed. I’m thinking exposed muscle tendons and maybe something crazy with the mouth.”

Eren’d had no clue what any of that meant at the time, except that it apparently meant Jean was spending more time on him than on anyone else. In super close proximity. Touching Eren’s face and making lil hums of approval and smiling something blinding when he got it to look the way he wanted. It all went and set Eren’s insides aflame, and suddenly Jean’s pretentious city boy ass was, while still god awful, kind of endearing.)

“Alright,” Jean steps back, smile wide. “You’re done.”

Eren jumps to his feet, ducking to check himself out in the mirror propped up against the far wall.

The mouth is what really gets him, painted across almost the entirety of his lower face with monster teeth painted all the way across his cheeks, the real line of his mouth lost in the paint while the rest of his face is contoured into sharper angles, eyes lined and wig fixed on his head into a mop of long, unruly hair. His “outfit’ consists of a beige lycra shorts Jean had handpainted to look like real skin, and from even a few yards away it looks like Eren is straight up naked.

He pushes his hips back, butt sticking out. He feels kind of ridiculous, but in the smoky darkness of the barn, fake dead bodies nailed to the walls, it was easy to slip into the role, throwing shit against the walls and screaming at crowds of teenagers until they ran for the exit, wailing.

Eren reaches up, meaning to press his fingertips against the almost invisible seam of his lips when Jean’s hand grabs his, narrowed eyes coming into focus as he says, “Don’t. Touch.”

Eren’s eyes dart back and forth between Jean’s grim face and their hands, lapsing in stunned silence for a moment before he scowls, tearing away. “I wasn’t gonna. Relax.”

“You do this every time,” Jean’s head lolls back, hands on his hips. “You fuck it up right before you get into position.”

“I do not--”

“Without fail. Every single time, like it’s your personal mission to just ruin everything good in this world.”

Eren rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, you’re so dramatic.”

 _“I’m_ dramatic?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re the one--” Jean’s cut off by the beep of Eren’s walkie talkie, still on the table.

Armin’s voice ring out. “Eren, everyone’s in position except for you.”

Eren snatches up the talkie, holding down the button. “Yeah, I’m headin’ over now. Jean’s just being a right piece of work.”

Jean flaps his arms indignantly.

“Okay, I--” there’s some hushed talking, and Eren can hear Levi asking, _why the hell is he still in makeup?_ There’s a sigh, and then a soft but clear, “They’re too busy flirting.”

Jean drops his brush set and they scatter across the floor.

The line cuts, total silence encompassing them as they stand there. 

And okay. Okay, so Armin’s not...it’s not like Armin’s completely, 100% totally absolutely wrong. Armin usually isn’t. It’s just not something Eren likes to, y’know, dwell on.

Jean’s turned his back to him completely, cleaning up his gear. Eren pushes all the air out of his body, wanting to find something to say that could ease them back into their normal give and take, pull and break.

-

“You’re a sadist,” is the first thing Armin says to him as he climbs out of the unit. He has even programme for the park in his hand, twisted mercilessly. “Sometimes I get scared just watching the security feed.”

The closer they get to Halloween, the busier the Shiganshina Horror Park gets, tidal waves of kids driving out in packed cars, shotgunning beer in the parking lot before winding their way through the park, stumbling over each other in screaming/laughing fits. Eren likes scaring them the most, hanging from the structure beams across the ceiling in the dark and then jumping down behind them with a scream. He’s pretty sure he made at least three of them piss themselves tonight.

“You don’t go to a horror park to not get scared, Armin,” Eren snorts, sliding the barn door shut and clicking the lock into place. He laughs at Armin’s grim expression. “And I’m not even the worst one. Annie’s Hell is by far the scariest--with the mutilated dolls everywhere? C’mon.”

The pamphlet actually tears, Armin clutching it to his chest. “You’re all terrifying and I regret taking this job.”

Eren throws his head back and laughs. “I’m’onna go get this crap off my face. Meet you at the car?”

The trailer is always packed at the end of the night, everyone shedding costumes and half wiping off makeup, trying to find their jackets and bags so they can leave--meanwhile Jean is shouting at everyone not to throw their costumes on the floor because they’ll get stepped on.

“They’re all already dirty and torn,” Eren snorts, leaning against Jean’s station as he waits for the chaos to die down. “That’s kinda the point.”

Jean glares, shoving a stack of wire hangers against his chest. “If you’re just gonna stand there, the least you can do is help.”

Eren does help, but he also takes his sweet-ass time, meandering in corners and trying to see if he can kick garments up into the air and catch without having to bend over and pick them up, which turns into a game of wig-hacky sack with Connie and Reiner until Jean chases them out by threatening to tell Levi.

“You’re sucha wet blanket,” Eren heaves himself up onto the table. “We’re just having fun.”

“Your ‘fun’ is gonna have me paying out of pocket when Levi can’t get the deposits back on some of these costumes,” Jean looks genuinely tormented. He eyes Eren. “There a reason you’re still here?”

Eren tilts his head. Jean knows why he’s still here. Jean knows, and sighs like he’s inwardly praying for the good Lord to give him strength. “I keep telling you,” Jean pops open the top of his kit. “You can buy this shit anywhere--every CVS has this exact brand.”

Eren’s quiet, eyes watching as Jean pumps clear liquid onto a washcloth, heart thudding against his chest. Jean’s left hand comes up to cup the side of Eren’s head to keep it steady as he wipes at Eren’s face with the other. His touch is firm and practiced, and Eren can’t help but find it gentle, Jean taking care to get into every crease and crevice, down his neck. And, finally, with a low seated heat that sizzle in Eren’s belly, Jean takes the cloth and works at Eren’s ears, shivers zinging down Eren’s spine so sweetly his eyes flutter shut and he makes a low grunting sound in his throat that Jean mistakes for pain, adding a quick, “Sorry.”

And he should be, because Eren hates this. Hates how much he really, really likes this, Jean taking care of him, Jean’s face so close to his, Jean’s touch. He watches Jean through half lidded eyes, not even bothering to pretend like he’s not staring. There’s the slimmest sliver of a bruise right across the bridge from where Eren slammed his hand into it the night they first met. Eren and Sasha had been talking about working as ranch hands growing up, and Jean had made some off-color comment about Eren having sex with his sister.

He deserved the punch, in the end. Still. That didn’t stop Eren from spending hours thinking about how his mama taught him better than to react with violence. Cool air sweeps over Eren’s damp skin as guilt sweeps through his stomach. Jean moves back, and Eren, before he can stop himself, blurts, “I’m sorry.”

Round eyes blink at him. 

“For almost breaking your nose,” Eren clarifies, and Jean doesn’t look any less confused, so he says it again. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s...random. And like, three weeks too late.”

Eren bristles. “Hey, at least I’m--”

“S’fine,” Jean cuts him off. “I’m sorry too. For what I said. Sometimes I just...say shit without thinking. I kind of deserved the punch.”

“Probably,” Eren swings his feet. “Still.”

Jean twirls a keychain around his finger. “C’mon, I gotta lock up.”

Eren slips out of his costume and into his basketball shorts, his socks and sandals, and his sweatshirt as Jean locks everything up.

They walk towards the parking lot together through the dark, and Eren wants to ask if Jean’s going to Reiner’s afterwards. On Saturdays, the whole group of them usually wind up at someone’s place, get drunk, watch movies, whatever. He’s about to ask if Jean’s going when their hands accidentally bump in the darkness and Eren snaps his mouth shut, chest too tight to let any words out as they finally reach the clearing and he all but sprints to where Armin’s pulled up near the entrance booth.

-

“No Jean tonight?” Armin asks, pushing his coat off. Eren’s ears prick, because Armin definitely caught him spinning in circles, looking around to try and find any trace of--

“Nah, he said he was busy,” Sasha hands them cups immediately. Eren sniffs it, and it singes his fucking sinuses. “I think he had a date, but he wouldn’t cop to it.”

“Who the hell would’ve ever agree to go out with someone like him,” Eren says, with absolutely zero real conviction, and everyone literally just ignores him and his deep red face. He throws back whatever’s in his cup at once, hands the empty to Armin, and goes, “I’ll be back.”

He only barely catches Sasha saying, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

-

The night ends with him throwing up on Reiner’s balcony and getting dragged into a bedroom by...someone, he can’t really remember when he wakes up the next morning in Bert’s room, still in the clothes from last night with a throw blanket over him. He sits up, a whoozy rush hitting him. Okay. Still a lil drunk. He tugs the blankets up over his head and stumbles out into the hallway, the sound of something sizzling in a pan and the pull of burning toast leading him.

When he sees Jean in the kitchen he thinks it might be a hallucination, until that hallucination turns to catch him staring and snorts. “Nice look.”

He’s referring to the blanket. Probably. 

The only thing Eren can think to say is, “The fuck’re you doin’ here?”

“I got here at like, 3am?” Jean pushes something around in the pan. “Don’t worry, I made it in time to catch the tail end of your very spirited rendition of ‘Hips Don’t Lie.’”

There’s a very good chance Jean is just fucking with him. But then, there’s also a good chance that he’s not, because when Eren drinks his love for Shakira spikes tenfold.

“Aren’t you only supposed to like Keith Urban or something?”

“Everyone,” Eren points an accusing finger, “loves that song. Everyone.”

Jean considers this for a moment, then, “Point taken.”

He _oh so smoothly_ changes the subject. “You bring your date?”

Jean’s head jerks to the side, a strange, confused smile working over his face. “Date?”

Eren’s 8am brain is having trouble processing this--after Sasha put the idea in his head last night (one of the few things he does remember), Eren had accepted the fact that Jean was on a date as absolute truth. Which, judging by how Jean is biting back his smirk, was clearly just some guess.

Jean reaches for the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

Eren collapses onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar, folding his arms over the counter and croaking. “Gimme.”

“You could stand to say please.”

“I didn’t ask, you offered--so gimme.”

“Where’s that country hospitality of yours?”

Their carrying voices wake up whoever’s passed out in the living room, and everyone else starts to filter out of the bedrooms, bathroom, and closet in various stages of decay. Jean in comparison, and in Eren’s still semi-drunk state, seems like some shining beacon of cleanliness with a fresh face and unwrinkled clothes, warm glow in his his cheeks, clean shaven. Eren feels a hard pull in his gut.

“Get it yourself then,” Jean slides the pot back into the maker. “If you want it so bad.”

“You _offered,_ you fuck.”

“Hey.”

They both snap their heads in the direction of a new voice, Reiner poking his head in from around the bend of the corridor.

“No fighting,” Reiner looks between them, then settles on Eren, pointing, _“Shakira, Shakira.”_

The room dissolves into a fit of giggles, and Eren promptly yanks the blankets up over his head and dies underneath.

-

“What the hell,” he asks Armin on the drive home, “was in that punch?”

“From what I could taste? Pure acetone.”

“God,” Eren slumps down. “Tell me I didn’t actually do a full routine to a Shakira song.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Armin grins at the road. “Jean couldn’t stop staring at you.”

Eren slides down even further, practically on the floor now. “Shut up.”

“Just saying.”

“Well, quit sayin’ it,” Eren grumbles. “‘Cause I don’t care.”

“Eren,” Armin says his name, the way he does when he’s about to pull an Armin Knows Best Card. “We’re a little old for the whole pigtail pulling charade, aren’t we?”

What’s worse is he hates how Armin sounds so city when he says stuff like that--he sounds how Jean sounds, how most of their friends sound save for Sasha and Reiner who both keep their accents decently hidden. He sounds crisp and well annunciated and like he didn’t grow up on the farm up the road from Eren their entire lives.

“S’not like that,” Eren folds his arms. “And even if it were--I wouldn’t get near it with a 39 and a half foot pole.”

“Mmhmmm.”

“He’s way too,” Eren squints against the sun, “city. Y’know?”

“Not,” Armin slides a confused glance his way, “really?”

“Well, he is. And country and city?” Eren rubs at his face, bone tired. “Don’t mix.”

-

There’s an age restriction in the park--13 and over, and under 18 has to be accompanied by an adult.

So when Eren jumps down from the rafters, throwing a pale against the wall and screaming just as he has every weekend for a month now, he’s not expecting two little kids to start crying hysterically over Jean yelling, “Wait, wait--stop! Eren!”

“Armin, bring up the lights,” Eren says into the talkie, and soon barn brightens, illuminating Jean and two terrified children huddling behind him. Eren kneels, waving his hands. “Hey, hey--it’s okay! It’s just a costume!”

The little boy just cries harder, big bubbles of snot working their way down his face. Christ. Eren pulls the wig off, and turns his eyes sharply on Jean. “The hell were you thinking bringing _kids_ in here?”

Jean splutters, clearly frazzled as the little girl tries to climb him. He stoops to pick her up, joing Eren on the floor as his voice turns sweet. “Mina, Tomas, it’s okay--he’s my friend, see?”

“Lookit,” Eren says, taking his hand and smearing the paint across his face, not missing the utterly devastated sound Jean makes when he does. Eren reaches out and wipes it on Jean’s shirt. “See? Makeup.”

Mina slaps a hand against Eren’s cheek, wide eyes wedged with a relieved smile as she smears the makeup even more. 

“Can I?” Tomas asks, and when Eren nods he reaches out, touching tentatively at first, then smearing a big circle over half of Eren’s face.

Jean’s huffs. “Yeah, fine, just ruin it even more. Whatever.”

“You can shut your mouth,” Eren hits the side of Jean’s leg. “It’s your fault.”

“They said they wouldn’t be scared,” Jean turns to glare at the kids. “They lied.”

“We weren’t scared!” Mina yells.

“Yeah,” Tomas shoves at Jean’s leg where Eren just hit. “ _You_ were scared.”

“Oh I was, was I?” Jean cocks an eyebrow.

“You were so scared you almost peed yourself,” Mina says, Tomas shrieking with laughter next to her.

The talkie crackles, Armin’s voice crackling through. “Eren--everything alright?”

Eren picks it up from where he put it down on the concrete. “Yeah, we’re all good. Jean thought it’d be a good idea to a bring a coupla seven year olds in here.”

“I’m eight,” Mina makes a face.

Tomas shouts, “I’ll be eight in seventy-four days!”

“Sorry, eight year olds,” Eren amends. “We got anyone else comin’ through?”

“No, that’s the last run,” Armin says. “Should I just tell everyone to cut out?”

“Yeah,” Eren stands. “I’ll see you ‘round back in ten.”

The kids are animatedly inspecting lab, poking at things the customers generally aren’t supposed to be touching, and Eren lobs a glare so heavy at Jean it bulldozes into him hard enough that he has to talk a step back. “What? They begged me.”

Eren’s nostrils flared with a huge exhale, fists clenching at his sides.

“ _Jeepers Creepers_ was on this afternoon and they were laughing at it,” Jean stresses. “That movie scared the piss outta me when I was a kid.”

Eren doesn’t say a word to him, just switches his focus to the kids. “Hey, y’all wanna meet the other monsters and mess with their makeup too?”

There’s an excited chorus of _yeah_ ’s. He doesn’t miss the way Jean turns bright pink with anger. It probably shouldn’t feel as satisfying as it does, but Eren revels in it.

-

They walk back to the costume trailer, Tomas and Mina running ahead as Eren and Jean lag behind. The silence is weird. “So, are they your brother and sister, or...?”

“Nah,” Jean stuffs his hands into his pockets. “They’re actually mine.”

Eren trips over his own feet.

Jean busts out laughing. “Oh my god, your _face._ I’m kidding. They’re my cousins. My mom had to drop them off ‘cause she got called into to hospital for an extra shift. Do the math--I would’ve been like, fifteen when they were born.”

“I don’t know. Maybe you have like, a string of illegitimate children all over Sina,” Eren says, exasperated.

Jean shakes his head. “Trust me, I’m not getting laid that much.”

Eren doesn’t know what to fucking do with this information, and it takes a moment, but Jean looks like he can’t believe he let himself say that out loud. Eren snaps his head back forward, and calls out to the kids who are trying to scale a pile of hay bales. “Hey, c’mon, y’all wanna see me turn back into a human again?”

-

Eren sits with Tomas and Mina and shows them how to play Tetris on his phone, keeping them preoccupied as Jean helps put the costumes back onto hangers and clean up the makeup and fake blood, everyone filtering out of the trailer one by one like they always do, saying goodnight as they head out towards the parking lot.

“C’mon,” Jean pats the edge of the fold out table. “I’ll take it off for you.”

Eren hops up, Mina and Tomas looking on with rapt attention, Eren’s phone forgotten as they watch Jean blot his washcloth with makeup remover.

“Do people make fun of you ‘cause you’re a boy who wears makeup?” Tomas asks, peering in closer.

“No, everyone thinks it’s real cool,” Eren answers honestly, closing his eyes as Jean wipes over his eyelids.

“Are you a monster full time or part time?” Mina leans her elbows on the table, staring up at him.

Eren laughs. “Only part time.”

She squints up at him. “How come you talk so funny?”

Jean barely covers a snort, and Eren glares. “Where I’m from, everyone has this accent.”

“Oh,” she says. “Can I get an accent?”

“Mhmm,” Eren tries not to purr as Jean massages the other one.

“Do you,” Mina examines the end of one of her pigtails, “have a girlfriend?”

“Uh,” his eyes flicker to Jean, who just turns Eren’s head to the side to get at the stripe of paint hiding behind the curve of his jaw. “Can’t say I do.”

Big dark eyes turn up to look at him. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Mina,” the warning tone in Jean’s voice sends a jolt low through Eren’s stomach.

“What?” Mina frowns. “You did. You said _you’ve_ had boyfriends.”

The scrubbing of his skin will forgive the blush that rises to Eren’s face, and he gently tries to diffuse the situation. “No, I don’t got a boyfriend either.”

“Do you have someone you like?” she asks. “Someone you like-like?”

Eren blinks. “Um.”

“Jean has someone he like-likes,” Mina sings. “But he won’t tell us who.”

There’s a cool burn of something probably too close to jealously at the base of Eren’s spine, but he smothers it with a smile and a cocked eyebrow in Jean’s direction. “That so?”

Jean scowls and slaps the washcloth into the center of Eren’s face.

-

The kids race to the truck. Jean scratches at the back of his head. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Eren shrugs. “They’re cute.”

“They’re ridiculous,” Jean sighs. Light from the street lamps cuts across his face in sharp slices, glint of amber irises caught as they watch the kids run around the truck. Eren coughs and rubs at the back of his hot neck. “Thankfully they go back home tomorrow morning and I’m not stuck taking them trick or treating.”

Eren scuffs the soles of his shoes against the pavement. “You going to Ymir’s party, then?”

Jean snorts. “I’d rather get a root canal than listen to her DJ all night.”

“Dunno, I think it kinda sounds like fun.”

Jean turns his head. “Will we get an encore performance, Shikeren?”

 _Jean couldn’t stop staring at you,_ echoes in Eren’s mind. He shoves a hand out and pushes Jean’s shoulders. “In your dreams, Kirschtein.”

Jean’s about to say something when Tomas screams out, waving Jean’s cellphone. “Jean! Auntie says you’re in big trouble when we get hooommmmee!”

“No one likes a tattletale, Tomas,” Jean shouts back, stuffing his hands in his into his pockets. From the far left, Armin beeps the horn, waving at Eren to c’mon. Jean runs up ahead, casting a look back over his shoulder with wave. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah,” Eren starts walking backwards, lowkey tripping over a tree root. “See ya.”

-

Mikasa’s in the passenger’s seat, and both her and Armin stare at him wordlessly as he climbs into the back of the car. He makes a face. “What?!”

“Warm out tonight, huh Armin?” Mikasa turns back forward.

“Unseasonably warm,” he answers.

“So glad I dressed in layers.”

“Same. It’s the smart thing to do, this time of year.”

Eren feels his rage bubbling over. “Stop it. The two of you--it’s getting real old, real fast.”

Mikasa’s eyes lock with him in the rearview. “We agree.”

-

The last night--after a straight month of people having sex behind the hay bales, being picketed by religious activists, fender benders in the parking lot, getting into fights with bombed frat guys, and people trying to steal their props--is...uneventful. Jean does his makeup in record time, and everything is so hectic they barely have time to bicker. Once Eren’s in his barn throwing shit around, time flies, and before he knows it Armin’s signalling that it’s time to break down for the night, finishing with, “Great job everyone--you were all fantastic this season!”

There’s cheering over the talkies, and they all gather in front of the barn to take a picture--a rare appearance of Levi who takes it without telling anyone, and Eren thinks it probably catches him and Jean mid shoving fight. After that, pandemonium soon sets in, everyone is scrambling to get to their respective Saturday night plans, and most of them keep their makeup on as effortless costumes for the party later that night, whizzing out of the trailer before Eren even has a chance to say goodbye.

So it takes maybe fifteen minutes tops for everyone to clear out, leaving Eren standing there, shirtless, waiting.

Jean doesn’t even bother with his usual preamble of _I don’t know why you can’t just do it yourself_ and blots his cloth with makeup remover. Eren hops up onto his usual spot, licking his lips and tasting face paint, his heart is jackhammering inside of his chest as Jean brings his hands up.

“Shit, I got so much in your hair,” he mutters, scrubbing. “That’s probably not gonna come out ‘til you shower. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Eren’s voice is so soft, and he feels dumb for sounding so meek. They should be fighting, right? Shit, why does this feel so weird--why is Eren making it so weird?

Jean’s eyes are focused, refusing to break from the spot he’s trying to rub at. “You okay?”

Eren makes a face. “Yeah…?”

“I’m just asking,” Jean steps back to put more remover on the towel. “You’re being so quiet. It’s freaking me out.”

“I’m fine. You’re the one being weird.”

Jean drops his hands, stepping back and flinging the washcloth into Eren’s lap. “How am I the one being weird?”

“You’re so--you’re so--” Eren flaps a hand. “I don’t know, but you’re weird.”

Jean shoves at Eren’s chest. “You’re weird. You’re weird all the time. And you never leave me alone.”

And Eren shoves back. “You never leave _me_ alone.”

Jean’s apparently run out of things to say. So has Eren, mouth dry and throat tight as they stare at one another in the empty trailer.

In the end, all it takes is a yank.

Eren’s hands curl into the collar of Jean’s flannel at the same time Jean’s fingers cup the back of his neck, pulling with the severity of gravity as they crash in the middle. There’s a hiss of breath, the inside of Eren’s thighs brushing against Jean’s hips and then wrapping around, table underneath his weight whining in an echo of his own as Jean’s fingers grab at the hair at the nape of his neck, the other snaking up the back of his hoodie, skin on skin in with a dry, hot insistence.

It’s a mess, mostly, everything tasting like the cold burnt rubber of face paint that burns Eren’s lungs, toxic like a lead poisoning Eren can feel drugging his blood in a sickly sweetness as Jean’s mouth works against his own. Eren’s fingers press against the heat of Jean’s face, feeling the burning skin, clutching and needy and angling Jean’s head better so he can tilt and devour.

There’s a bang, the trailer door against the wall, and he and Jean jump apart, Jean whirling away and Eren jumping to his feet in a matter of milliseconds as Armin busts in through the trailer door, dragging in the dummy body backwards.

“Jean, this thing fell and I guess it’s not worth putting back up, so what--um,” Armin stops short when he turns, finally, critical blue eyes taking in the scene. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Eren answers hastily, grabbing the washcloth off the table where it was abandoned, scrubbing at his face vigorously in a dry burn he doesn’t think is doing anything. “Just tryin’ to get this shit off.”

Armin’s face creases, dropping the dummy and crossing the short space. “Jean? You okay?”

He bends, trying to face Jean who keeps turning in a ridiculous looking spin, hand splayed over his face until Armin catches him by the arm and turns him. 

“What’re--” Armin’s eyes narrow, then seem to blow wide as they tick over to Eren, and the mess of smeared makeup over Jean’s lower face, and back to Eren. His cheeks pink, realization dawning on his expression. “Oh.”

“Armin,” Eren tries, voice cracking.

“I’m just gonna…” Armin slides back, tripping over the sprawled leg of the dummy body on the floor and barely saving himself from falling, steadying himself against the wall with a hysterical, bursting laugh. “I’m just gonna go.”

“Armin,” Jean’s voice is sharp.

Armin mimes zipping the seam of his grinning mouth and locking it before springing through the open door and bolting.

“Shit…” Jean sighs, wiping a hand down his face, then dropping it and staring down at the makeup that rubbed off on it with a look of such utter betrayal Eren has to grossest compulsion the laugh. This whole thing makes him want to laugh until he pukes.

He stomps it back, and only says, “Could I get that--”

“Yeah,” Jean tosses him the cloth. “Yeah, sorry.”

Eren wipes down the rest of his face, rough enough to burn and probably leaving gobs behind, but he just wants to feel his skin breathe again, Jean doing the same with brown napkins leftover from the Chinese takeout bags.

“Um,” Eren stands, rubbing at the back of his burning neck, “I could tell Armin not to tell anyone. I mean, I don’t think he will, but…”

“It’s fine,”Jean says, not turning around. “I need to lock up.”

“Right,” Eren says, the inside of his head echoing with the empty throb of wrong, wrong, _wrong._

-

Armin leans against the hood of the car, staring.

Eren narrows his eyes. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Armin holds up his hands.

“Don’t,” Eren repeats, crossing his arms and taking his place next to Armin. “Where’s Mikasa?”

“Wrangling some kids who thought it’d be funny to scale the shed and are now stuck on top and too afraid to jump down,” Armin explains. “She’ll be done soon.”

Eren sucks his lips in, tapping the toe of his shoe against the pavement as a cold wind cuts through the parking lot, rippling at Eren’s torn up costume shirt still crusted over with fake blood.  
Armin starts, “So I was thinking for dinner we could--”

“I made out with Jean,” Eren blurts, staring out over the empty parking lot. “Like, made out.”

“I’m aware,” Armin blinks. “I kind of walked in on you.”

“I think,” Eren stuffs his hands into his hair. “That I like him.”

“Again,” Armin squeezes at Eren’s shoulder. “I’m aware.”

Eren whips his head around. “Help.”

Armin sighs, tilting his head back, eyes turning up towards the stars. “You have two options here.”

Eren turns fully.

“One,” Armin holds up a finger. “You can tell him how you feel.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Eren winces. “What’s option two?”

“Two,” Armin holds up a second finger. “You suffer in silence until your feelings go away. If they go away.”

Eren stares. “That’s it? Those are my only options?”

“Yep,” Armin lets his lips pop on the ‘p’ as he catches Mikasa making her way over, waving.

“Those suck.”

Armin shrugs. There’s some rustling in the nearby brush, and Jean emerges from the woods with his keys jingling at his belt. He halts dead in his tracks when he notices Eren and Armin standing there, spins around, and makes a B-line for his truck without another word.

Eren slumps against the hood of the car. “Shit.”

-

House parties are always crazier than apartment ones--for one, they’re at the edge of the city, with sparse neighbors and plenty of land to get as rowdy as they want.

The problem is, Eren’s not in the mood to get rowdy. He shifts from room to room barely speaking to anyone beyond polite hello’s, cup in hand still full and feet aching from a long night of running around. Jean’s nowhere to be seen, and when he mentions as much Bert says, “Oh, he’s around here somewhere. I saw him hoarding Reeses in the kitchen before.”

Eren kind of wants to go home, but the thought of being alone in his apartment on Halloween doesn’t sound all too appealing, either. He dumps his drink in the sink, grabs a few handfuls of candy from the big bowl in the kitchen (not a single pumpkin shaped Reeses cup in sight), and slinks towards the open basement door.

He hears the TV on before he hits the bottom step, thinking, it’s not him. It’s definitely not him.

Rounding the corner he stares at the empty basement--empty, save for Jean Kirschtein on the old sofa between baskets of folded laundry, candy wrappers scatters around him, eyes wide as they take in Eren standing there with a solo cup full of tootsie rolls.

“Hey,” Eren says.

And Jean says it back. “Hey.”

“Uh,” Eren’s eyes flicker to the TV. “What’re you watching?”

Jean looks at him like it’s a trick question. “...Hocus Pocus.”

“Oh shit,” Eren jumps over the back of the sofa. “I love this movie.”

“Everyone loves this movie.”

He moves one of the laundry baskets onto the floor, plopping down. He holds the cup out. “Candy?”

Jean glares straight ahead. “I’m good.”

Eren mutters, “Suit yourself…”

The movie cuts to a commercial break, and Jean shifts on the couch, throwing an arm over the back. Eren bites the inside of his cheek--he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get Jean. One second, they’re okay and talking like normal people, making out, _whatever,_ and the next the guy won’t even look at him. 

Eren doesn’t know how much longer he can take this shit.

Almost to prove his point, Jean moves again, adjusting and leaning to the side. Leaning close to Eren, enough so that their knees bump under the guise of reaching for the candy he said he didn’t want. Eren might not have been knockin’ back drinks, but he’s had enough to feel a good buzz. To feel himself sinking into the warmth radiating off of Jean, to think to himself _what in the hell am I doing?_ and still go ahead and do it.

“What are you even supposed to be?” Eren asks. “I thought you would’ve gone hard on a costume.”

“I’m a college graduate crippling under the weight of both my student loans and other people’s expectations of me.”

“Okay...but like, you’re that all the time.”

Jean eyes him. “Like you put in so much effort.”

“I did! I’m a cat!” Eren points to his face. “Mikasa drew whiskers and a nose on me and everything--it’s cute, right?”

Jean rights his gaze forward, pointedly not saying a thing. Eren makes a face, and tries his best to refocus on the movie, feet thumping above head and Jean sinking closer and closer. The faint bruise that was still there last week has faded completely now. Eren hand twitches against his leg.

Jean untwists the end of a tootsie roll. “I love Bette Midler.”

“You would,” Eren rolls his eyes.

“Excuse you,” he motions at the screen. “She’s the voice of like, several generations. She’s the epitome of poise and class--not that you’d really know much about those, but--”

Eren shoves Jean’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Keep on runnin’ that mouth, Kirschtein.”

Jean gives him this look, that caught between amused and curious grin, like he’s wondering what Eren’s on about, but even without knowing he thinks he likes it. He looks like that a lot, Eren thinks. He looks like that a lot, and hell if Eren doesn’t find it so damn endearing, leaning in to see it up close.

“Hey,” Eren croaks.

Jean breathes, “Hey.”

They’re close enough their noses brush, Jean leaning in, eyes flittering down to Eren’s mouth, the back up again, quietly asking _can I?_

Eren surges forward.

Jean’s hand comes up to cup his jaw, angling Eren’s head just so as the kiss deepens. Eren moves, facing sideways on the sofa and letting his legs fall apart to let Jean sink forward. They adjust, Eren getting swept under, and he’d be bursting out of his skin if it wasn’t for Jean’s weight pressing down on him. Legs tangled, shirts getting rucked up and hair getting mussed by roaming hands, and Eren feels the heat of Jean’s thigh right between his own. He whimpers, sighs, Jean’s teeth nipping at his lower lip.

Until Jean pulls back, mouth red and swollen. “Uh.”

“What?” 

“Can I um,” Jean breathes out a laugh, pressing his forehead to Eren’s chest. “Can I blow you?”

“Oh,” Eren blinks at the ceiling. Something falls directly overhead, and there’s muffled laughter that follows it. “I--yeah.”

His shirt gets pulls up, bunching under his arms and Jean plants smacking kisses down his chest, his stomach. Fingers curl into the waistband of Eren’s jeans and start tugging down, Jean pressing a kiss right below his bellybutton, another below that as Eren’s fly is undone. 

There’s a pause, and then, “...Are you still wearing your costume?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to change out of it earlier,” Eren hisses.

“I hate this thing,” Jean’s teases his fingers along the edge, barely dipping inside. “I hate this thing so much. Do you have… _any_ idea how you look in them?”

Eren doesn’t answer, too distracted by the long, slow lick up the front of those shorts, the sound bubbling up out of him one he didn’t even know he could make as his skin flushes down to his chest.

His blood whirs loudly in his own ears, struggling to remember to breathe because _holy shit_ this is happening. This is happening right now. He bites at his lower lip, threading his fingers into Jean’s hair as a warm tongue traces the v of his hip--

“Yo, Kirschtein!”

The basement door bangs open, and Jean hits the floor as Eren scrambles, yanking his pants back up.

“Dude, you still down here hiding from--oh,” Connie stops short and the foot of the steps, drink in hand and Sasha in toe, both looking like they’re about to bust at the seams from holding back laughter. “Hey Eren.”

“Jean,” Sasha coughs, shoulders shaking, “what’cha doing down there?”

“Oh, you know,” Jean’s voice warbles up from the floor. “Contemplating the fragility of existence.”

“Well, when you’re done _contemplating,”_ Connie lays it on thick, “We’re starting the bonfire.”

Eren covers his burning face with his hand. “We’ll be right up.”

Connie and Sasha shove each other up the steps, doing nothing to hide how hard they’re laughing, and the second they burst through the door at the top he can clearly hear Connie shout, _Guess what they were doing?! Guess! Oh my fucking god._

Eren looks over at Jean, standing now with his back to Eren. It’s gotta be some kind of record--getting walked in on two times in the span of four hours. He re-buttons his pants, zips himself in, and when he glances back up he catches Jeans staring. 

Jean whips around, “I’m leaving.”

And he storms up the stairs, out of sight. 

_“Are you a virgin?”_ the cop on the TV asks.

And Max, with his floppy 90s hair, answers. _“Yeah.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Look, I’ll get it tattooed on my forehead, alright?”_

Eren slumps over on the couch, feeling the dead weight of his heart in his chest. “I feel you, Max. I feel ya.”

-

He gets trashed. On accident. By the time he realizes what cup he’s on, it’s too late, the world giving out from under him in a haze of bonfire smoke and leave piles, one of which Eren makes himself very comfortable in until Mikasa throws him over her shoulder, Armin trailing behind.

“Don’t get ‘im,” Eren says to the blurred gorund. 

“I dun get ‘im,” he tells Mikasa’s hair as she leans over to buckle him in.

“He’s so--” Eren lets out a purely guttural sound as they pull onto the main road.

“Here,” Armin hands him a Reeses. “This’ll help you feel better.”

Eren slaps it out of Armin’s hand. “Nothin’ll ever make me feel better. Nothin’.”

There’s a sigh. Eren can’t tell who it’s coming from, but it’s not appreciated regardless!

“I don’,” Eren swallows, head so heavy it lolls against his shoulder, “He’s not ever gonna like me, is he?”

There’s a beat of pure silence, then Mikasa says a gentle, “Eren.”

“He’s not,” Eren tries to slump down, but the seatbelt won’t let him, so he settles for kicking at the back of the passenger’s seat. “He’s too diff’rent. He’s better than me, an’ he knows it.”

“Hey,” Armin pushes the hair back from his face. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”

He leans on Armin’s shoulder--Armin, who speaks so crisp, so smart he can talk to anyone about anything. His rubs at his nose, sniffling. “Why doesn’ he like me?”

The rest of the car ride home is quiet.

-

He’s woken up by Armin the next day, shaking his shoulder and saying over and over again. “You signed up for Exterior Crew, remember?”

Eren groans, sitting up. “Fuck.”

-

Sunday meant a full day of tearing down the Horror Park. Interior Crew was meant to pack up all the decorations and props in the morning, and Exterior was supposed to tear down and load up all the sheds, trailers, and heavy props that afternoon. The Excedrin coupled with a full stomach, fresh air, and Jean-less existence left Eren feeling surprisingly good as he loaded up the hoards of fake bodies into the back of U-haul.

“Did this month even really happen?” Sasha asks, lugging a peice of plywood backwards through the parkinglot. “I swear it was September yesterday.”

Eren picks up the other end and helps her, moving it to the pile meant to go on the truck someone’d be swinging by with soon. It was just him, Sasha, Reiner and Bert, loading what needed to be loaded and throwing out what needed to be thrown own. Just the four of them. No one else. No one else from the Interior Crew whose name wouldn’t be mentioned even within the safety of his own thoughts.

Bert looks past Eren, waving. “Oh hey, Jean.”

Eren’s eyes slips shut. He’s really fucking tired of being so wrong all the time.

“You guy haven’t even taken apart the shed yet?” Jean gripes, pulling up alongside the debris piles. He hops out the driver’s side. “I wanna get this shit to the recycling center before the sun down goes down.”

Something ticks inside of him.

“Well, if you’re just gonna stand there,” Eren slaps the pair of spare gloves into the center of Jean’s chest. “You might as well help.”

“Yo, I wasn’t even supposed to stay past noon,” Jean snaps back, teeth bared. “I came out of the goodness of me heart.”

“And because Hanji promised you a $50 bonus if you agreed to lend us your truck,” Reiner calls out.

“And I may have been promised a small monetary sum--hey,” Jean grunts as Eren pushes past to the plywood pile.

“Trust me,” Eren heaves the piece on top into the back of Jean’s truck with crash and a rattle. “I wanna get outta here as soon as I can.”

-

Jean does help take apart the shed and move the pieces through the woods to his truck--he’s a goddamn pain in the ass about it the whole time, but he’s a strong, efficient pain in the ass who does his best to avoid Eren’s eyes.

The U-haul is packed with props, Bert and Reiner in the front ready to drive it to the storage unit downtown while Sasha and Hanji take a quick inventory in the back.

“All in all, we’re missing a few minor porps,” Hanji runs over his checklist, “But not too shabby. Good work, y’all! Take ‘er out, Bertlold!”

The truck revs to life, tires crackling against dirt as it pulls out of the parking lot. 

Hajni turns. “All of the debris is taken care of? No litter? Town council’s gonna send some people to do a sweep of the area sometime tomorrow, and if there’s even a gum wrapper on the ground they’ll be up out asses.”

“I’ll do one last run through,” Sasha grabs her trash bag and heaves it over her shoulder. 

“Excellent,” Hanji waves her off before about facing to look at the truck. “All the scraps’re loaded up?”

“Yep,” Eren throws a last broken plank into the open flatbed. “We’re all set.”

“Perfect, Jean---”

“I can’t unload all this shit by myself,” Jean crosses his arms. “I can, but I don’t want to.”

“You’re probably right,” Hanji hums, adjusting her glasses. “Eren, go with him.”

Eren balks at her.

“Gee, don’t look too thrilled, or anything,” Jean grumbles, stomping his way over to the driver’s side. Eren gawks as he passes, because Jean says that like he hasn’t been the biggest jackass this side of the globe for the past hour. He sends a pleading look at Hanji, who smiles sweetly at him, a silent way of saying _your 20-something bullshit drama isn’t my problem._

Eren sags, collects himself, and climbs into the truck without another word.

-

The quickest way to the recycling center is through the mountains, rather than heading all the way down to the expressway to go through the city, full of grumpy Sunday drivers going from outlet to outlet. The scenery as they wind around twisty bends almost makes up for the fact that the drive is painfully silent, Jean’s radio apparently broken. For the first time Eren thinks what he wouldn’t give to hear an overplayed Jason Derulo song.

He inhales. Suck it up, Jeager, he thinks. You’re an adult. You can do this.

“It’s pretty out,” Eren manages, inwardly pumping a fist. Chit chat! Casual conversation about the weather! The things dreams are made of!

“I guess.”

Eren slams him with a glare, and Jean visibly prickles.

“Okay, fine, it’s beautiful out,” Jean relents. “It’s an incredible fall afternoon in the mountains and it’s taking all of my willpower not to pull over and stuff my face into a pile of leaves.”

Eren cocks an eyebrow. “So why don’t you?”

“Because I just showered this morning? I know the concept’s a foreign one to you, but most humans shower on a semi-regular basis.”

“No, I mean,” Eren flaps a hand. “There’s a road into the state park somewhere down here. We could, y’know, go.”

Jean’s mouth hands open, half sounds flittering out, trying to become an excuse.

Eren leans over, pointing. “Hang a left up there.”

-

The park on the side of the road and hike the incline through a thicket of trees where a path’s been worn through, a small clearing right at the end, overlooking the sprawling Shigan Valley.

Eren runs up, stopping just short of the edge, and says to himself, _“Wow.”_

Wind blasts against him, whipping through his clothes, and he takes it in with his arms out wide. His eyes slip shut as he just...breathes, the sudden and soft realization blooming in his chest that he’s missed this. This damp earth, the rustle of critters beyond the brush and the pockets of sunshine that fall over all of it through the canopy of leaves overhead. The sun is just beginning to dip in the sky, coloring everything warm and sweetly yellow and Lord, he’s missed this so much, smile stretching wide enough to ache.

When he looks back over his shoulder, Jean is staring at him. He raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing. I--” Jean scuffs his shoe against the dirt. The flannel and jeans he wore are smeared with dirt from loading things all afternoon, hair sticking out every which way as he tries to fold into himself under Eren’s stare.

It almost doesn’t look right, but Eren realizes it’s just ‘cause he’s never seen Jean get dirty before. It actually looks pretty good on him.

For a city boy.

Eren turns, stepping forward. “What?”

There’s a glint of something fierce when Jean lifts his gaze, and seconds later, in the blink of an eye, Eren’s getting spun around by the shoulders to face the valley again. He can see, just at the edge of his vision, the tall buildings of Sina, muted by distance, overwhelmed by the flush of colored treetops. He can see even farther in the distance the patches of quilt like farmland, and he knows the easternmost part of that is where he grew up. Jean’s hands brand him through his shirt, and there’s dirt under the fingernails and cuts along his knuckles.

“Listen, I’m gonna say something, and I really need you not to look at me while I do it,” Jean’s voice shakes him from his thoughts. “Okay?”

Eren stares out over the cliff. It rings through him, this clarity, fresh and whole in the sunlight as the doubts in his mind slip away almost like they were never really there. He bites back a smile. “Okay.”

“‘Cause I-I’m not good. At talking to people. I suck at people. But I’m gonna try to say what I mean the best I can.”

Softer, this time. _“Okay.”_

“I--” Jean lets out this tiny, breathless laugh. “I like you.”

Eren smiles at the mountains.

“I like you and...and it’s so dumb, y’know? That I’m like 24 and I still get fucking crushes like I’m twelve and I can’t deal with it so I get super moody and say nasty shit just to get your attention and I’m sorry and I’m working on it. Obviously, or I wouldn’t be telling you all this like a giant tool--”

Eren reaches back, placing his hand on top of Jean’s, still gripping at Eren’s shoulder, prying it off so he can turn. So they can face each other. Jean, poor asshole, looks absolutely miserable. Like that confession took everything out of him, red in the face with his mouth thinned out in wavering line, eyebrows drawn together. 

“So yeah,” Jean winces, and a breeze rustles through the leave, his hair. “I like you, and I’m sorry.”

Eren puts a hand up, cradling Jean’s face like Jean’s done to him a thousand times before, and Eren does what he wished Jean had done every single time they’d been like this.

It’s more patient than the other two kisses. Maybe it’s where they are, unhurried by the fear of being found, or the need to bruise and brand. He slings his arms over Jean’s shoulders as he gets pulled in by the hips, and makes a small surprised hum when those hands settle on his ass and squeeze.

“For the sake of my peace of mind,” Jean pulls back long enough to say, “Could you like, verbalize--”

“I like you, too,” Eren tries to bring him back in again. 

Jean resists. “Are you sure? Because--”

Eren launches up onto his toes, and kisses the worry from Jean’s big fat mouth.

-

Without anyone to barge in on them, they stay there, kissing against the nearest tree, for a long while until the wind turns a shade too chilly and the sun starts to sink behind the horizon. They both know they need to leave, that the recycling center’s going to close soon, and that they could be doing more than kissing somewhere private with a locked door.

It’s still taking a lot of effort to actually break apart, because when one does the other pulls them back in, rinse and repeat.

“Hey, so,” Jean murmurs against the corner of Eren’s mouth. “I was thinking.”

“Not your strong suit, but okay, I’m listening.”

“I was thinking,” he stresses, ignoring Eren’s jab. “We drop this shit off at the recycling center, go to the nearest Target, and buy all those bags of discounted candy and uh, head back to my place?”

Why is Eren so charmed by this? Eren shouldn’t be so charmed by this. It’s sickening, is what it is, reaching to pull a stay leaf out of Jean’s hair before sliding out from his arms, no chance of getting yanked back in again.

“On the condition,” Eren starts walking backwards down the path. “That we get those Reeses shaped like pumpkins. They have to be the ones shaped like pumpkins, or no deal.”

Jean smiles that lopsided grin at him, like he can’t quite figure Eren out, but doesn’t mind as he rubs the back of his neck. “They taste the same as the regular ones.”

_“Blasphemy.”_

He holds out his hand, and waits for Jean to catch up and take it.

 

_end._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has gone through at least 3 completely different iterations with only one scene that stayed the same over the past year, but I wasn't about to let another Halloween pass without putting it up! So! Here we are! Thank you for reading, and please feel free to come hurl insults at me at chillnaxin.tumblr.com ;) 
> 
> the title is, as always, from a song: "Black Heart" by Stooshe
> 
> Happy Halloween, everyone~*~*~


End file.
